Page 41 of Formula Chance

“You make them believe,” he says simply. “One race, one strategy, one decision at a time. You’ve already proven you’re capable. They just need to catch up.”

His words hit me in just the right way. It’s the old Nash. The man who was my biggest champion, and I feel a flicker of gratitude. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

He nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Anytime.”

No one’s around and it would be the perfect time for him to lean in and kiss me. Or maybe just a touch to my cheek. In the old days, it was natural for those small tokens of affection, but we are in a different time.

“I’ll see you at the simulator run this afternoon,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah. See you then.”

“And I’ll bring dinner over to your apartment tonight.”

“Sure. That would be lovely,” I murmur and then he walks away.

I watch him disappear down the hall, wondering exactly what we are, but it’s probably too early to label things.

Checking my watch, I see I’m running a few minutes behind for my next meeting. Luca requested it, and I have no clue what he wants to talk about. It doesn’t concern me too much as Luca has been supportive of me in all ways, but I also know he’s probably hearing rumblings from Hendrik who’s passing up rumblings from Matthieu.

The door is open when I arrive, and Luca waves me in, gesturing for me to take a seat across from his glass and chrome desk. His office is surprisingly bare, save for a few framed photos of past races and a sleek laptop before him.

He smiles at me, his cheeks ruddy, and I’m guessing he just recently came in from the cold. It was a frigid minus-six degrees Celsius this morning, and the gray overcast skies make it seem even colder.

I sit in one of the two available chairs, perched on the edge, hands in my lap. It’s a position as stiff and uptight as I feel.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, his tone warm but his gaze sharp. “I know you didn’t get off to the best start in Jeddah and I wanted to see how today went.”

“I’m fine,” I say, lifting my chin with an air of confidence. “Looking forward to Melbourne.”

He leans back in his chair, studying me. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it, Bex. I know things are challenging right now.”

I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. No clue how much he knows. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I say carefully, deciding that I’m going to deal with Hendrik and Matthieu on my own.

Luca raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. “Good. I have confidence in you. Now, tell me about your strategy.”

I launch into my plan, outlining the importance of tire management and timing pit stops to capitalize on Melbourne’s unpredictable conditions. Depending on qualifying rounds and grid positions, I might want to employ a bit riskier tire strategy. Luca listens intently, nodding occasionally, his expression thoughtful. I can tell he’s really absorbing what I’m saying, and I see respect in his eyes.

“It’s a solid plan,” he says when I finish. “But Melbourne is tricky. I need you to prepare for contingencies.”

“Of course.”

“And Bex…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let the noise get to you,” he says, his tone firm. “Hendrik, Matthieu—they’re testing you. Push back. Show them why you’re here.”

I nod, his words both comforting and motivating. “I will. Thanks, Luca.”

He smiles faintly. “You’ve got this. Just do what you do best.”

As I leave his office, a renewed sense of determination fills me. The road ahead won’t be easy, but I’m not about to back down.

Not now.

Not ever.

At least where racing is concerned. I have no clue if I can apply that fortitude toward rekindling something with Nash, but that’s so far out of my control, I’ve got no choice but to let him lead things.

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